


5 Times Hunkle was the Babysitter, and One Time They Weren’t

by MiniMangoes



Series: The Captain's Journal [5]
Category: Dungeons & Dragons - All Media Types, Original Work
Genre: 5+1 Things, F/M, Gen, Hunkle the babysitter, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-05
Updated: 2020-10-20
Packaged: 2021-03-06 18:21:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,104
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26303353
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MiniMangoes/pseuds/MiniMangoes
Summary: Hunkle, for all intents and purposes, is the designated babysitter on board. But sometimes, they're not.
Relationships: Original Character(s) & Original Character(s), Original Character(s)/Original Character(s)
Series: The Captain's Journal [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1838770
Comments: 1
Kudos: 3





	1. I. Hunkle and Rachel Well

“And he thinks he can try to  _ ruin my life  _ like that, watching over everything I do! Ugh! It’s so annoying. So what if I want to be a pirate and do pirate-y things? He’s now also on a pirate ship too! What a hypocrite.”

Hunkle resisted the urge to violently roll their eyes for the fifth time. Rachel and Hunkle were leaning against the deck’s railing, looking out into the sea. At least, Rachel was - Hunkle sat on a coil of rope, leaning back against the railing and absentmindedly making little braids in their hair.

_ Try to be nice _ , Moira’s words rang inside their head.  _ Or at least, don’t be too mean when you show her around, yeah? _ Although John Hopper politely declined Hunkle’s (to be exact, Moira’s offer that was delegated to Hunkle to complete) offer of a tour because of a meeting with Simon, Rachel was enthusiastic at the prospect of “getting dirt on everyone on board,” and quickly agreed. Hunkle tried not to laugh upon hearing Rachel’s determined words -  _ you got freaked out by Princess Andy, won’t you freak out over our secrets too? _

_ Besides _ , they thought smugly,  _ I don’t think you’ll find out all of them anyways. _

In any case, a working knowledge of the ship was important, and so, whatever Rachel’s motives may be, Hunkle proceeded to give Rachel a tour around the ship. 

The ship was large and it’s mechanics detailed, however, and so, even after half an hour and Hunkle’s best efforts to simplify everything, they just barely managed to cover the hull and the galley. As such, upon reaching the deck, Rachel promptly declared “a quick smoke break,” and proceeded to drag a resigned Hunkle towards the far end of the ship, lighting a cigar with her free hand while walking briskly.

Which resulted in this situation.  _ Really _ , thought Hunkle,  _ why am I always the designated babysitter again? _

Rachel took a drag from the cigar and spoke. “He was all like, Rachel don’t let the others corrupt you, Rachel make sure you wash your dishes after eating, Rachel don’t pull on the ropes too much it’s bad for your back.  _ Really. _ And on the first day, too. That, like, totally ruined my chances of getting to know the crew. I wanted to like, build a reputation, be  _ cool _ , but nooo, he wants me to be  _ good ol’ Rachel _ .” She threw her hands up in the air, accidentally throwing her cigar off the ship. “Does he really need to micromanage  _ everything? _ ” She crossed her hands in a huff.The cigar landed in the water with a small hiss and sank quietly into the sea.

_ So dramatic. What are we, a commedia troupe? _

Hunkle understood taking John Hopper into the crew - the former sheriff knew his way around weapons, not to mention was a hulking tank of a man - and Rachel too, on a theoretical level; her magic skills were undeniably useful. Listening to the young woman’s complaints, though, was seriously starting to make Hunkle reconsider the validity of having Rachel on board.

Hunkle couldn’t help but roll their eyes. Yes, magic was cool and all, but was  _ this _ really worth it?

“All I want is to  _ be myself _ and live my own life for a bit, is that so hard?” wailed Rachel, oblivious to Hunkle’s utter apathy. 

Hunkle rolled their eyes again. “Have you ever thought that he’s just looking out for you?” cut in Hunkle, impatient. The “short smoke break” had been going on for an hour now, and Hunkle was tired. “It just sounds like good advice to me.”

Rachel covered her face with her hands. “I know,” she mumbled out, “but that still doesn’t make it any better. I -” she looked up suddenly and pointed at Moira, who was standing on the other end of the deck, “Like look, do you see that - that Captainness?”  _ No, _ thought Hunkle. Rachel continued on. “That’s the face of someone who knows what they’re doing. Like, that British Navy trick? That overall sinister creepiness? I don’t know  _ how _ that was so convincing, but it was. I swear, you only get that sort of attitude from experiencing a lot.”

_ ‘Experiencing a lot’ was putting it mildly, _ thought Hunkle.

“And if my dad keeps hovering over me like that, how will I ever get that experience?” Rachel finished, trailing off unsurely. She looked at Hunkle. “What do you think, Hunkle?”

_ Finally, someone who actually calls me by my name.  _ “Well,” they slowly started, “I don’t think you really want that experience, really. Least of all you become a raging alcoholic,” Hunkle motioned at the bottle of alcohol in Moira’s hand - “or worse. We all carry secrets on this ship, and their scars run deep. Your dad just wants to make sure you don’t get our scars, that’s all.” They stared at Rachel and raised both eyebrows. “Besides, I don’t know much about you, but it seems like you already have your fair share of scars. You have your own magical secrets you’re not telling us.”

Rachel flinched and looked away, squirming. “Well,” she chuckled lamely, “I guess you’re right. But still. I don’t know, Kid.”  _ Well, so much for that. _ “It’s complicated, I guess. I think. He may be watching out for me or whatever, but that still doesn’t mean my dad doesn’t annoy me. Family, am I right?”

Hunkle bristled, hackles raising. “At least you got family,” they murmured. That barb hit particularly deep. “At least you have family to annoy you.”

Rachel blinked in confusion. “But you do have family.” Hunkle narrowed their eyes. Rachel continued in a hurry, “I mean, you do though - This ship, no? I - I overheard you guys, earlier. In the cave. Moi- The Captain said so. Like, I don’t know. Everyone on this ship is family, something like that? And like, you’re clearly important on this crew. So, you’re like family, I think? Which means you have a family? I guess?”

Hunkle stared at Rachel in shock.  _ Huh, _ they thought dumbly.  _ Maybe you’re alright after all. _

“And like -” Rachel rambled on, speaking faster, “and like, Moira’s your mom right?”

Hunkle choked on air.  _ “What?”  _ they wheezed out, suppressing the sudden desire to laugh.

“I mean - I mean, when I was settling into my quarters Moira - the Captain - came over and introduced herself, and she said ‘hello, I’m the Captain,’ and other vaguely threatening and helpful things but I remember, I think, that somewhere in there she said ‘and Hunkle’s my Kid,’ which means that she’s your mom, right? Right?”

Hunkle burst out laughing, a deep, bellyaching laugh that couldn’t be subsided. Rachel looked on in wary confusion.

After what seemed like an eternity, Hunkle stopped laughing, wiping tears from their eyes. Chuckling, they nodded at Rachel. “Yeah,” they said with a smile, “I guess you’re right.”

“What does that even mean,” they heard Rachel mumble. “You guys and your secrets.” 

Hunkle let out a snort. “You need to get better at mumbling then that, Rachel.” Rachel startled.

“Well,” she said nervously after a pause. “If you ever need a dad, I think dad’s always willing to adopt another kid. Then we can both share an annoying, overprotective parent.”

Hunkle thought of an overprotective siren with a haunting voice and an annoying selkie in flashing red.

“Thanks for the offer,” they said with a smile. “But I have all the annoying, overprotective parents I need.” They stood up, stretching their back.  _ That's enough babysitting for today.  _

Really, the things they do for this ship.

“Come on, I still haven’t shown you everything, and it’s almost lunch. So. Over there is the forecastle deck. You can see the catapult, and right below it is…”


	2. II. Hunkle and Arthur

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes, shovel talks can be accidental.

Enough was fucking _enough_ . _Despite what Moira may think,_ grumbled Hunkle angrily, _I’m not an idiot._ Two months into Moira’s supposed “alcohol reduction punishment,” and Moira showed no signs of slowing down in her drinking. Something was definitely up - there was no way, not according to Hunkle’s calculations _and also using just plain common sense_ , that Moira could drink as she did (and she did drink _a lot_ ) while under her strict limit of a handle of rum a day. Either she had a magically refilling bottle of rum as she claimed she did (but Hunkle highly doubted - Moira wasn’t Belian with her paladin magic, after all), or _someone_ was smuggling Moira alcohol, refilling her handle when no-one else was looking. 

Hunkle thought they had a pretty good idea of who that _someone_ was.

They stared at Arthur, eyes blinking owlishly in the semi-darkness.

“Stop it, it creeps me out,” they heard Arthur mutter under his breath.

 _Good_ , they thought. _That’s the point. Now talk._ Hunkle tapped their foot impatiently. The pair had been sitting in the hull for over an hour now, quietly playing a game of poker and occasionally making some awkward small talk. It was almost dinner, however, and Hunkle was starting to get impatient. Jimmi had promised some freshly cooked gumbo for dinner, and they cared infinitely more for gumbo than for idle chatter with Arthur. _Really_ , they thought, _the things I do for Moira_. 

Enough was enough. _Time to cut to the chase_. “So,” they said nonchalantly. Arthur raised an eyebrow, still focused on the cards in his hands. Hunkle smiled. “I was talking to Moira the other day, and I’m amazed at how you spend much time down here with her. What do you do down here with Moira, hm?” They cocked their head to the side and narrowed their eyes. “She says you play poker. Poker, really? Yeah right. Arthur, what are you playing at?’

Arthur dropped his cards, scattering them across the table, and knocked over his flash. He sputtered. “What do you-” he scoffed, crossing his arms. “What are you even talking about-” Arthur suddenly went rigid, mouth slack. He gripped the table with white knuckles as a flush rapidly crawled down his neck and to the tips of his ears. Hunkle’s eyes widened in shock. _Wait, what?_ “Wh-what are you-” Arthur stuttered out, voice rapid and wavering, “the gall of you, what are you even _doing_ , you goddamn-” he opened and closed his mouth rapidly. “How do you even _know_ , who even _told_ you-”

Hunkle cocked their head in the other direction, confused.

“I’m just trying to look out for Moira,” they said, voice earnest. _What brought on such a reaction?_ _Did he think I was threatening Moira?_ They hoped to at least calm the crazy conspiracy theorist enough so that they could get some real answers out of him. Hunkle felt their hairs standing on end.

If anything, Hunkle’s words made Arthur’s irrational behavior worse. He shut his mouth, teeth clattering, and gripped the table tighter. 

“Fuck,” he whispered, voice small and vulnerable, full of an emotion Hunkle couldn’t - didn’t want to - identify. “I know.” Hunkle felt winded, completely blindsided by the turn of events. They bit down their nausea and opened their mouth to speak, but Arthur barreled on.

“You don’t have to worry about Moira,” he said, “nothing’s happening. I - I won’t let her. She’s too good for the ghosts of her past trying to drag her down. And I know what I am to her. So. Um. Yeah. You don’t have to worry about anything. She’s too good.”

An awkward pause filled the air as Hunkle struggled to find words. Arthur was now squirming in his seat - _what the actual fuck is going on_ , thought Hunkle - and occasionally glanced at Hunkle. “What do you mean by that?” they managed to make out, voice low.

Arthur sighed. “I don’t want her to choose. She loves her crew, she loves this ship, she loves you” - _ok, ok, this needed to be stopped immediately_ \- “and sometimes I look around and I think, why am I here? Do I even belong here? She’s been working hard to remove some of those damned albatrosses around her neck, and what do I do? I come in, same ol’ Arthur, from her old burning ship and the nightmares _I know she still fucking has_ , and I give her a hundred more.” Arthur blinked rapidly - _fucking hell, are those tears?_ \- and continued, voice raspy. “Sometimes, I look at her and think, you are so. So _beautiful_. And I’m -” he waved at himself, “I won’t mince my words. I’m old. And I’m her past. With a terrible attitude and an even worse life expectancy. And I know what you all think, that I’m crazy and a terrible drinker. And it’s true.”

 _Well, two’s a crowd_ , Hunkle dimly thought over their internal turmoil.

“And it’s true, it’s all fucking true, and that’s all I’m reminded of whenever I’m around her. I see her, with her flaws and that fucking smug mug of hers, and I think that’s she’s a real bastard. A real _bastard_ , you know? But god, I look at her and I can’t fucking help - I can’t fucking help but - and I know I’m a pirate and pirates are greedy lusty bastards but I look her and I _want,_ not like _that_ but _-_ even though I know it’s selfish as hell I still -” he stumbled over his words. “I think I - fuck I don’t know, these - fucking hell - it’s always been around - I’ve _always_ -”

 _Nope, nope, nope_. Hunkle had heard enough. It was time to leave.

“That’s enough,” they heard themselves say. A dull throb was starting to form in their temple. “I don’t care. Sort out your feelings without me. Just - just, what are you _doing?_ ” _That’s all I want to know_ , they wailed internally. The sooner they could know, the faster they could leave.

“I’m staying by her side,” Arthur said at last, eyes wistful and full of - _fucking hell, please don’t tell me that’s -_ “in whatever form that may be. It’s up to her. She’s had enough heartbreak to last a lifetime, don’t you think?”

His eyes shone, warm and bright and _devoted_. Hunkle felt like throwing up. 

_Moira, please get your love life together so I can never have to deal with this again. Or I will make sure you stay sober for the rest of your life, so help me god._

“You love her,” they blurted out quietly.

Arthur’s eyes widened comically, mouth agape, clearly shocked. Slowly he started to blink, as if coming back to life, and looked at his hands bashfully.

 _Really. And to think they’re almost 50._ Hunkle felt like a babysitter.

“Yeah,” he whispered quietly. “I guess I am.” He nodded his head towards Hunkle. “You’re a good Kid, you know. I’m glad the Captain has someone to look out for you like you.”

“Uh,” Hunkle responded eloquently. “I mean, you do the same too, in your own weird way.”

Arthur looked at Hunkle in shock. “Really?” He looked away, eyes gleaming with unshed tears. “ Look, I know how important you are to her. And I know we aren’t on the best of terms. So - so I appreciate what you said.” He took a deep breath. “I just want to say, I won’t ever make her choose. I know where her priorities are, and I’ll respect that. Always. She deserves only the world. I promise you, I won’t let her down. Or you.”

He smiled softly, eyes wrinkling at the corners. It reminded them, thought Hunkle uncomfortably, of Moira’s smile, that secret smile that was directed at Hunkle only whenever she thought the changeling wasn’t looking.

Hunkle felt deeply uncomfortable and completely out of their depth. _All I wanted,_ they thought indignantly, _was to find out what they’re doing._ The changeling wanted to run, or hide in a cave somewhere, or disappear into the darkness - anything, really, other than whatever _this_ was. 

Arthur looked back at Hunkle, eyes still soft and vulnerable, and stretched out a hand. “So, what do you say? Can we call a truce, at least for Moira’s sake?”

Hunkle narrowed their eyes, getting up to leave. “You’re not off the hook, you know.” They looked at the hand, and, making a split second decision, hit the back of Arthur's hand with their own. Mortified at their own actions - yet strangely pleased as well, for some odd, also terrifying reason - they spun around and dashed away, face blazing red.

Arthur’s laugh echoed around them as they fled the hull. “Can I take that as a yes?”

Really, and they call  _ them _ the Kid.


	3. III. Hunkle, Dinkleshire and Gomez Addams

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tea time is more difficult than it sounds

Hunkle regretted their decision to accept Gomez and Dinkleshire’s offer for tea.

“And thus, Master Hunkle,” raspily droned Dinkleshire, “that is the correct way to discuss the weather with persons of middle- to moderately-high status in a way that both acknowledges the other person’s social standing, demonstrates your own good manners, and knowledge of current affairs.”

“Exactly,” nodded Gomez, hands clasped lightly on his lap, “a must-needed, highly critical skill that is essential to all dinner-parties-cum-diplomatic-meetings for members of the landed gentry that occur during major autumnal and spring festivals.” He fractionally tilted his head forward. “Are you listening?”

Scratch that, Hunkle regretted ever meeting the two to begin with.

“Yes, Gomez, I’m listening,” they sighed. “But really, why is this really necessary? This is so _pointless_ .” They hit their head against the table and groaned. “We’ve been doing this for an hour already! You said that you were going to be teaching me _useful_ manners! _Useful!_ And this crap is _weekly_?”

“Language!” admonished Dinkleshire. Gomez shook his head and tutted. “Now, domnul Hunkle, what do we say when we address individuals in semi-formal events?”

Hunkle just barely resisted the urge to roll their eyes. “Yes, _domnul_ Addams, I’m listening,” they muttered sarcastically.

Gomez smiled slightly. “Now, domnul Hunkle, although I appreciate your effort to apply cultural sensitivity and generate goodwill through the use of Romanian titles appropriate to the situation, I must say that your delivery could use some improvements. However - ”

“But of course,” smoothly cut in Dinkleshire, “that is something that we can cover in another lesson, so do not worry, Master Hunkle. As well as lessons in euphemisms that express displeasure. The Captain may be your guardian, but that does not mean one is forever doomed to be socially unrefined and unpleasant.”

Gomez glanced at Dinkleshire. “Yes, my thoughts exactly,” he said slowly, “but I do ask that I be given the privilege of finishing my thoughts.”

“Yes of course,” Dinkleshire nodded, “but I believe that it is necessary to be time-efficient as well. After all, we only have three more hours to impart good manners onto Master Hunkle.”

“I concur, _domnule_ , but as domnul Hunkle stated, albeit somewhat crudely, that we also have at least five more such meetings, which still guarantees ample time for communication by all members of the meeting. In any case, I daresay that mutual respect for each other, which includes conversations, is necessary not only as a sign of cooperation, but a sign of _basic, common-sense manners_ . After all, how else will we be able to impart good manners to others _if we do not practice them ourselves_?”

Hunkle shivered involuntarily. Dinkleshire slowly sipped his tea.

“Why of course,” he said after a while, “but I do believe that it is a sign of _basic, common-sense manners_ to allow others time to voice their opinions. Conversations are not monologues, after all. Unless that is something that is different in Romania?”

“Not monologues?” Gomez chuckled. “Why, and please pardon my forwardness, but I do not believe it was me who was talking for the past forty minutes. You see, domnul Dinkleshire, it is _basic, common-sense manners_ in Romania to allow others time to speak, regardless of a speech’s substance. I believe it is the same in England as well?”

Hunkle’s eyes darted back and forth between the two rigid individuals _._ Dinkleshire raised his eyebrow minutely. 

_Think, Hunkle, think._

“I’m so thirsty,” they said loudly. “I’m going to have some tea. Lemme pour it for myself.” They made a motion towards the ceramic teapot. “I don’t even need to put real hot water, I can just put in whatever, that’s totally how you make tea, right?” _Please, please please,_ they thought desperately. _This is the fifth time they’ve almost come to blows._ They sighed internally. _Why am I always caught up in situations like this?_

Dinkleshire shook his head and sighed, shoulders sagging. “Master Hunkle, what did we talk about in regards to tea? You _must_ have tea with tea leaves and hot water.”

Gomez nodded. “Yes, of course. Tea without tea leaves cannot be counted as tea. That is unacceptable. Now, please add some tea leaves to the tea pot.”

Hunkle stared at the five canisters of tea on the table.

Dinkleshire sighed. “Please, Master Hunkle, I believe this was already discussed. In situations of casual-to semi-casual gatherings with primarily sweet pastries, fruity teas with a black tea base are preferred.”

Gomez nodded in agreement. “Well said, domnul Dinkleshire. In this case, I would suggest the #6739 blend, a beautiful Assam black with hints of rosehip and orange peels. It is quite affordable, so it’s a wonderful everyday tea.”

If Hunkle remembered correctly, this was the tea blend whose price almost caused Moira to seriously consider kicking Dinkleshire and Gomez off the ship.

Dinkleshire continued. “And now you brew the tea at 200 degrees-”

“180 degrees.”

Dinkleshire’s eyebrow twitched. “Perhaps for the #6740 blend, yes, but this tea should be brewed with hot water at exactly 200 degrees.”

Gomez ignored Dinkleshire. “After you have poured in the water at 180 degrees, please make sure to cover the pot so that the tea can brew nicely. In the meantime, I would consider selecting some nice pastries that would go with the tea. May I suggest the elderberry tart-”

“Why, but the elderberry is much too sour for this tea, Master Gomez. I would recommend the raspberry sponge cake-”

“But raspberry would compete with the rosehip, which would diminish the quality of the tea. I must insist on the tart -”

“Nonsense, the sponge cake would be divine with this tea-”

“I’ll have both the sponge cake and the elderberry tart, thank you.” Hunkle cut in loudly, expression neutral. Gomez and Dinkleshire blinked at Hunkle uncomprehending.

Hunkle shrugged. “I was told I need to eat more. Captain’s orders.”

Dinkleshire and Gomez continued to stare. “Well I guess if the Captain says so,” Dinkleshire said slowly, “then it cannot be helped.”

Gomez nodded his head. “It’s unfortunate that the Captain does not have the manners appropriate to her station, but at least she is concerned about your wellbeing. Go on, then, take both.”

Hunkle took a small bite of both desserts. The light and fluffy sponge cake was a perfect compliment to the delicate raspberry-meringue on top, while the slightly-sour raspberry paired well with the creamy custard tart below. _Really_ , they thought. _Thing really outdid themselves this time_.

They smiled in bliss, and couldn’t help but blurt out. “This is amazing!” _Maybe tea time was worth it after all._ “I wish I had some tea with this.” _If only they could be civil for a bit longer..._ “How long should the tea brew for again?”

“Three minutes.” “Five minutes.”

Gomez and Dinkleshire locked eyes.

 _Well_ , thought Hunkle, sadly munching on the tart. _It was good while it lasted_.

The room crackled with tension. Gomez and Dinkleshire stood up in unison. Dinkleshire slammed his fist down on the table as Gomez kicked his chair away.

“Tea should be soaked for _three minutes, you uncultured mosquito!”_ growled Dinkleshire.

“ _Three minutes?_ Hah! And risk offending the host for wasting their tea and preferring tea-flavored water? Why, I thought the British were more polite than that, _you stuffy taxidermied mink_ !” snarled Gomez. He wagged a finger at Dinkleshire. “And _furthermore_ , there is something _clearly uncultured_ about the British choice of tablecloths -”

There was something poetic, drowsily thought Hunkle, about hearing insults that weren't hastily-strung expletives.

“ _Excuse me?_ The importance of matching tablecloth and napkin fabrics to seasonal norms? Why, that’s quite the haughty statement from someone who _can’t even fold a napkin correctly!_ ” roared Dinkleshire.

“How arrogant must you be to think that a _triple-folded napkin_ is _folded correctly?_ There isn’t even a _three-dimensional aspect to it!_ ”

Hunkle daydreamed about dinner. _What a nice day_ , they thought as they stared out the window. _Not a cloud in sight. Maybe I’ll have dinner in the crow’s nest._

A plate hurled across the room, shattering upon impact. Pastries were crushed under teapots and rolled around the floor. Dinkleshire and Gomez were pointing fingers at an elaborately folded silk napkin, shouting angrily.

Hunkle closed their eyes and settled in for a nap.


End file.
